


spread your wings when you want to

by elephantbag



Category: SHINee
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Taemin-centric OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-14 15:38:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantbag/pseuds/elephantbag
Summary: It’s possible he should’ve seen it coming, but he’s 15 years old. He’s young and his life is more hectic than he could’ve ever anticipated it becoming. He’s got way too much on his plate, he’s spread way too thin, he’s got a support system he should be reaching out to but doesn’t. He’s too afraid of being a bother and, even worse, of showing his age and immaturity, of giving his members and managers and company more reason not to believe in him or to believe the whispers about him.





	spread your wings when you want to

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [ this interview](https://youtu.be/CjCtP1KGdpA) and others. Taemin has mentioned staying in the practice room after staff had left, practicing until dawn and dancing until he got nosebleeds, so naturally I thought that was good for character study. Thank you to my beta for fixing my mess and please enjoy ♡

He’s 15 years old, too young and too small and too behind, unable to take proper vocal lessons because he’s yet to go through puberty and the voice changes that come with it. He’s surrounded by people older than him, more talented and more mature and more hardworking. He’s aware that the trainees dislike him because he’s gotten to debut before they did and after training for less time than they did. He’s also aware that there’s nothing he can do about it. It wasn’t his decision. It wasn’t under his control. He’s just doing his best. He repeats that to himself every night, quietly, almost inaudibly, so that he won’t awaken his members in the tight space they share. He’d hate to cause them more trouble than he already has.

He’s tired every day, practicing until the crack of dawn and returning to the dorm on numb legs, only ever sleeping for an hour or two. He wakes up in a daze and gets dressed in a hurry, sometimes being walked all the way to school by his members because the other kids have found it fun to pick on the newfound idol among them. He’s tried to convince them that it’s fine, it’s what kids do when they come across something they don’t understand or don’t have for themselves, but they won’t accept it. They say it’s no trouble at all, but he knows better.

He’s getting in the way, more and more frequently finds himself struggling to do the choreography perfectly, even though he’s the main dancer and dancing is meant to be his thing. It’s the one thing he’s good at, the one thing he shouldn’t ever struggle with, no matter how bone-deep tired he feels and how little rest he gets. He’s still unable to practice singing. He’s still not good enough compared to his members. They never, _ never _make him feel inadequate, always propping him up and trying to make him feel like he fits in, but he knows better.

It’s worse when they fight, even if it’s stupid and petty and not really indicative of anything, just too many teenage boys with hormones going haywire in a too-small space. He’s not much of a crier, he’s never been open with his emotions the way Jonghyun-hyung and Kibum-hyung are, but his heart screams at him to run into their shared bedroom and hide under the covers of his bunk bed and cry, cry, cry. They apologize when things have calmed down, tell each other they didn’t mean the awful things they’d said, but he knows better.

It’s fine when they have a rare day off, spending their time playing video games and eating junk food, teasing and pushing and play fighting. It’s less fine when he has to focus on schoolwork, do his homework and be reminded that he’s so, _ so _much younger than everyone else. His members are either finishing high school or done with high school entirely and he’s stuck years behind them, a baby in comparison. There’s nothing less cool than asking your older friends for help with your much simpler maths homework, especially when said friends could be off watching movies or having fun together. They never refuse to help him or to spend time with him, but he knows better.

It’s possible he should’ve seen it coming, but he’s 15 years old. He’s young and his life is more hectic than he could’ve ever anticipated it becoming. He’s got way too much on his plate, he’s spread way too thin, he’s got a support system he should be reaching out to but doesn’t. He’s too afraid of being a bother and, even worse, of showing his age and immaturity, of giving his members and managers and company more reason not to believe in him or to believe the whispers about him. All it takes is a single, isolated bad day to destroy all of the work he put into making sure the people around him saw him as a calm, collected, hardworking young boy, and that arguably makes it a million times worse.

Initially, nothing about it is different: he stays in the practice room after midnight, quietly drinking from his water bottle and stretching his legs as the majority of the building’s staff leaves for the night. He eats a protein bar and listens as the world around him grows silent as the last person on his floor takes the elevator down to the ground floor. He returns to the repetitive sound of his members’ voices blasting through the speakers, his own nowhere to be heard, a constant reminder of his various shortcomings and of how much harder he needs to work to even feature on a song by his own group.

Like most days, he practices for hours on end, through the wet hair getting in his eyes, through the sweat dripping down his face, through the constant thrumming of pain in his muscles. Usually, he would do so until his senses are taken over by dance, until he no longer feels any pain and is only conscious of his movements and the music around him. He only ends the session when he hears the staff around his floor again, unlocking doors and talking to each other in low murmurs, voices tinged by sleep in the very early hours of the morning. This time, however, he’s forced to stop much earlier than intended by a nosebleed; he rushes towards his bag for a pack of tissues or a small towel and comes up empty, the feeling of blood trickling down his cupid’s bow uncomfortable and frightening, no matter how many times he goes through this same incident.

He runs past the door of the practice room towards the closest bathroom and wastes precious practice time taking care of his nosebleed, standing in the bathroom and staring at his defeated form in the mirror. He hasn’t gotten to practice long enough to arrive at the point where his muscles are numb and he aches all over. Now that he’s been interrupted he knows it’ll be next to impossible to restart and make his body work through the pain.

He makes his way back to the practice room and collects his things, declining a security guard’s offer to get a cab to take him home. He walks to the dorm, each miserable step bringing his spirits further down until he tiptoes into the apartment in an absolutely foul mood. He’s drenched in sweat and frankly disgusting, but he doesn’t want to wake any of his members in the dead of night by taking a shower. Instead, he climbs into bed, fully aware he’ll have to do his laundry tomorrow on top of everything that takes up his day.

It only gets worse when he’s woken up hours later not by the sound of his alarm, but by Kibum-hyung shaking his aching body and stripping the blanket from him, as he’s apparently slept through his alarm and is running late for school. He’s got enough time to take a shower, thank God, but not nearly enough to make himself perfectly presentable or eat a proper breakfast, only getting a couple of protein bars thrown at him by Jinki-hyung when he’s already on his way out of the door. It’s no better at school, kids taunting him as soon as he places a foot inside of the building, none of his hyungs around to make them hesitant and silent as they’ve occasionally been before.

He bears it, paying as much attention as possible to his lessons and thankfully leaving halfway through the day to attend schedules and late afternoon practice with his members. Schedules go well enough, if only because he shuts his mouth and attempts to will his stomach to stop tying itself into knots. He’s unsure if it hurts because he hasn’t eaten a meal in well over twelve hours or because he can _feel_ that the awfulness of this day isn’t over yet, anxiety coursing through his veins.

As he expected, practice is when this day takes a dive to the realm of impossibly terrible. He’s tired, hungry and anxious, unable to focus properly with his vision going black and spotty every few minutes, his breath short and _ staccato_. He bends over his knees and tries his hardest to get his breathing under control, but his legs shake and his fingers tremble, body swaying in place. He senses people around him and shuts his eyes tight against the warm prickling of tears, afraid of appearing weak and useless in front of his members, afraid of showing them who he really is and who they’ve been telling him all along he’s not.

In the end, his efforts are rendered pointless; he straightens himself up too quickly and falls backward awkwardly when his head swims, hitting his hip painfully on the hard floor. His members are on him in a flash, hands pushing his hair away from his face and lifting his head away from the floor, placing it carefully down on someone’s lap. He hears panicked voices calling his name and questioning his wellbeing but he’s too disoriented to tell which voice belongs to who, much less formulate a response to any of their questions.

They press a cold towel to his forehead and his cheeks, voices slowly but surely quieting down to concerned questions traded here and there. It’s positively awful when he finally opens his eyes again, the bright lights above making him squint and turn his head further into whoever’s tummy he’s lying on. He grabs onto their shirt and wills himself to be brave and face his members head-on, to take full responsibility for his various irresponsible choices and mistakes committed in the past twenty-four hours, if not for all of the past months they spent together. He’s deathly afraid they’ll be angry with him or, maybe worse, disappointed in him, despite knowing he’s let them all down.

He slowly raises his head up, searching first for the person he’s holding on to and being less than surprised to find out it’s Minho-hyung, the member who is closest to his age but has taken on an almost overprotective older brother role, possibly because he’s the only member younger than him. His eyes are big and round, his eyebrows pinched in worry, his mouth slightly open like he’s seconds away from asking him a thousand questions.

He wants so badly to be brave but finds he can’t, he’s too weak and tired and frightened, choosing instead to clutch onto Minho-hyung’s shirt and burrow his face in his chest. He doesn’t immediately start crying and thinks that finally, he’s done at least one thing well for himself, but it’s all for naught when he feels caring hands rub his back and careful fingers run through his hair. It breaks his resolve and as a gentle mouth kisses the top of his head, he lets out a terrifyingly loud sob, echoing in the largely empty room. Arms surround him and squeeze his small frame until he’s crying freely in the middle of their tightly woven circle of limbs, his members’ voices flowing soft and calming in his ears, overwhelming in the love and care he can hear and feel pouring out of them.

They let him cry it out for a while, never trying to make him stop or prodding him for any information on why this is even happening in the first place. When he finally emerges, sniffling and blinking away the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, he’s faced with four very concerned, but still non-judgemental faces; Minho-hyung wipes carefully under his eyes, Kibum-hyung squeezes his hand, Jonghyun-hyung softly massages the nape of his neck, and Jinki-hyung gives him a bright, supportive smile. Despite their obvious worry, their primary concern seems to be his comfort and his boundaries, allowing him time to pull himself together and recover without much pressure.

When it seems the worst is behind him and he can take full breaths again, chest expanding fully and calmly, he steels himself for what comes next, lips pressed together in a tight, straight line. “I’m sorry. I stayed up late, then overslept, then fainted and interrupted practice. I’m _ really _ sorry, I _ promise _ it won’t happen again.”

He closes his eyes and prepares to be scolded, but is taken by surprise when his apologies are met with complete silence. He opens his eyes again and is utterly shocked to see raised eyebrows and sad eyes, none of the disappointment and anger he expected anywhere in his hyungs’ faces. The room is silent enough to hear a pin drop until the eldest speaks up, voice shaky but clearly trying to show confidence and leadership. “Thank you for your apology, but we care about your wellbeing a lot more than we care about practice. Are you okay, Taeminnie? What can we do to help you? Please don’t be afraid to tell us.”

Jinki-hyung’s words are met with a chorus of other assurances and questions, as if they were all biting their tongues, waiting for one person to bravely speak up so the others, too, could voice their concerns. It fills him with warmth, even if at the same time he feels awfully guilty for worrying them so much. “I’m okay, just – tired and hungry, but it can wait until we’re done with practice.”

Jonghyun-hyung’s voice is shrill but confident when he speaks up, an air of total finality to his words, daring anyone in the room to go against his decision. “You can’t wait, Taeminnie! You fainted, for fuck’s sake! We’re telling manager-hyung you feel under the weather and we’re doing nothing but taking care of you tonight until you’re really, seriously, sure you feel better.”

The others nod along to his words, all seemingly in agreement with his plan. Jinki-hyung gets up and jogs to where their bags are kept, taking out his phone and sending off a quick text, presumably to alert their manager. They help him stand up, various hands supporting him underneath his arms and around his waist, nearly lifting him right off the floor.

He can walk well enough, with a stumble here and there, but his members don’t move away from him and don’t say a word that suggests they want to, coming to walk as close to him as possible. Jonghyun-hyung and Kibum-hyung hold his hands on each side, with Jinki-hyung and Minho-hyung walking closely behind them, a hand touching his lower back or his waist every so often until they make it inside the minivan waiting outside.

“Taemin-ah, I’m very sorry to hear you don’t feel well,” their manager says as a greeting the moment they all sit down. “We’ll take you boys home, but it’s back to work tomorrow, alright?”

They nod and hum various agreements, having never expected otherwise. He’s sandwiched between Jinki-hyung and Minho-hyung in the back of the minivan and feels warmth go through him as they whisper of all the fun things they’ll do when they get to the dorm, what kind of food they’ll order and what genre of movie they’ll watch together, each boy holding one of his hands and playing with his fingers, smiling down at him like he’s a blessing instead of the nuisance he had believed himself to be throughout their last few months together. Before he even realizes it, he’s started dozing off, head falling to the side to rest on his leader’s shoulder for the remainder of the trip back to their dorm. They’ll wake him up soon.


End file.
